


Dance in Love

by wayward_soon



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn, Swearing, Two POVs, has yuri on ice influences, probably grossly american, this is my first fic in years ahhhhh, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_soon/pseuds/wayward_soon
Summary: [Dance AU (mostly ballet)]Baz was perfectly fine dancing on his own, until Simon Bloody Snow waltzed into his studio. The idiot somehow got a lead role in the spring production and was bound to make a fool out of himself. Unless a certain someone can show Snow the ropes.Between crushing and fear, how will Baz survive this without drowning in his emotions?





	1. Beat 1: Ostinato

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a fic I started to write to celebrate 100 followers on tumblr (shameless self promo: you should follow me at wayward-soon) buut it ended up taking longer than I thought so now here it is months after ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.
> 
> As a dancer myself, I thought it'd be interesting to imagine a Carry On Dance AU, with Baz of course an expert in ballet. And so, the gears started turning and here we are.
> 
> I don't know if this was apparent, but whenever Simon is referred to as "Simon," it's Simon's pov, and whenever he's called "Snow," it's Baz's pov. Also, I wanted to call the chapters "beats" but AO3 is homophobic so now all the chapters read like "chapter 1: beat 1: nameofchapter" so that's a thing.
> 
> Anyway that's it and I hope you enjoy my first fic in years!

One beat of music struck the air. Then came the second. Next the third. And finally the fourth. Soft piano rang through the studio as a pointed toe slid off the ground and found its place hovering just above the floor. The dancer lifted the inside middle of his thigh to turn out and straightened out his posture. Perfect. Just the way it should be. And the only way it can be.

Basilton Pitch always made sure his first move at the studio was absolutely perfect. It was the first motion of the day, so it needed to set the standard for the rest. Besides, he wasn't going to be like the rest in the studio and build up to that perfection. Perfection must be a constant; otherwise, what was the point of temporary satisfaction? If he was going to be anything like his ancestors, he could never show the sin of mistake.

The girl in front of him pulled her leg warmers up. Penelope Bunce, a dark and thick girl, who probably would have been better than Wellbelove if she didn't spend half her time in hip hop classes. She has said that she likes variety and branching out her interests, but Baz thought that was foolish. Why not focus on one area so you can be the best? To be fair, Bunce did balance her time wisely and managed doing well in both, but Baz couldn't see the point of "well" if perfect was on the table.

Meanwhile, at school, Bunce was right behind Baz in the race for best in their year. But just like in ballet, she was constantly off doing something else to prevent her from the top. She kept gallivanting with Snow doing god knows what rather than studying harder. That's not to say Baz didn't admire her. But her unfulfilled potential would never stop annoying him.

Agatha Wellbelove stared off into the distance as she balanced the tips of her fingers on the barre. Baz couldn't read her mind, but he could tell by the look on her face that she was carefully counting each beat of their warm up song. Her blonde bun reflected the overhead lights as her pale legs stretched in front of her. If Baz was the best guy in the class, Wellbelove was the best girl.

However, she didn't seem to care as much about the studio as everyone else. A ridiculous opinion to Baz, since, after all, his legendary late mother used to own this studio. He often saw Wellbelove looking at pamphlets for studios in California, a place so far off he didn't think she'd ever make it there.

He didn't know much else about Wellbelove, other than the fact that she probably had a crush on him. Baz didn't really care, him being gay and all, but he did feel sort of bad for her. Here she was trapped in this place when all she wanted to do was escape.

"Alright, if you're done warming up, let's come to the center and start rehearsal," David, the director, said to the class.

Just as Baz was tightening his fifth position, the door left of David swung open, and a teenage boy gasping for breath sped inside. Simon Goddamn Snow.

"I'm...so...sorry..." he said. "...I got...lost..."  
"That's alright, Simon," said David, "You can go right next to Agatha."  
Snow did manage to squeeze in next to Wellbelove, but on his other side lie a puzzled Baz.  
"What are you doing here? Did you miss the memo that this place is for experienced dancers?" Baz hissed at him.  
"Interesting you say that, since I've been dancing for ten years," Snow whispered back.  
"This place isn't just some local hip hop slum you know. It's the Pitch Dance Company. The PDC. Maybe you've heard of it? Or did you miss our museums and international studios?"  
"No, I think I missed them going to Bunce Studios, which has ten million subscribers and appeared multiple times on TV. So maybe you should get off your ballet high horse and shut the hell up."  
"Be quiet back there!" shouted David, starting up the combination music. He gave a long look at Snow, lifting his gaze from shoe to head before nodding slightly and turning his back.

Baz grimaced and hit the first position of the combo. Of course Simon Bloody Snow had to join his dance studio. That klutzy idiot will probably fall out of a single after twisting his ankle. Of all studios, why did he have to join this one? After all, Snow only did hip hop with Bunce, right? Sure, he danced at an incredibly successful studio, but still hip hop. Why would he join such a demanding ballet studio?

No matter the reason, Snow just had to infiltrate the one place where Baz's thoughts were free of him.

Just as expected, as he danced the piece, Baz felt himself lose his balance and nearly fall. All because of stupid Snow. Him and his beautiful bronze curls and kind blue eyes distracted Baz, which was totally unfair. How was he supposed to focus when a blurred Snow moved in the corner of his eye?

David called for a water break after what had seemed like forever. Snow sped to Bunce, who was drinking from some kind of eco-friendly bottle. Baz crept toward them.

"Baz?" Snow said. "What'd you want?"  
"Oh, yeah. Hey Snow. Just wondering why the fuck you joined my studio."  
"You want a serious answer or are you just here to insult me more?"  
"All business." Baz held up his hands in surrender.  
"Fine," Snow said. "I've mostly been doing hip hop, but my instructor has been saying my technique, posture, and all that needed touch up, and that ballet will help with all that. So, now I'm here."  
"Okay, but why here? There're a million dance studios less intense than this place," said Baz.  
"Well, Penny goes here. And you say all the time it's the best dance studio, so why not?"  
" _Was_ the best dance studio. Now that David's got his hands all over it, its true glory got destroyed."  
"Alright, calm your dramatic arse."  
"So that's it? You're just going because you want to?"  
"Pretty much."  
"You didn't think about it at all?"  
"I don't think much about anything."  
"Makes sense."  
"As much as I would love to sit around and listen to you two bicker all day," Bunce said, "I think our water break's over."  
The three left their water bottles on the floor as they scurried off into the classroom.

As the music started up again, Baz watched Snow's bronze hair flutter through the air during a pirouette. Those blue eyes sparkled with happiness when he landed correctly.  
How was Baz going to survive this?


	2. Beat 2: Subito Forte

The class huddled around the paper of fate. The cast list. It hung on the wall just outside the studio, bringing anxieties to all that approached.  
It's been a few months since Snow first walked into the studio. Since he joined so late into the winter season, he didn't have a role in the Christmas production. However, he did show up in time to audition for the spring show. Of course.

The spring production was to be Cinderella, and most of the casting was predictable. Baz was not at all surprised when Wellbelove's name fell next to Cinderella. But what did shock him was the role of the prince. Sure, Baz seriously doubted he would get that role, but he figured it would go to Dev or Niall. They were decent and long-time members. They also weren’t Baz, so they had that going for them.

However, a much different name fell next to the prince. One starting with a Si and ending with a No. Simon Fucking Snow.

There had to be a mistake. Hot air filled Baz's chest. As Snow frolicked to Bunce, beaming about his role as the prince, Baz bit his lip down hard. This wasn't fair. The role was supposed to go to the best dancer, and, not to be too rude, but Snow only had half the skill as the rest of the studio.

And what lie next to Baz’s name? What role did David decide was best for Baz? The evil stepmother. A little on the nose, in Baz’s opinion.

Baz stormed off, heading for his mum's office, the one that David took over with his stupid replica swords and other useless junk. He threw the door open and slammed his palm on the desk. David was standing behind it with an almost smug look on him.

"Why. In. The. Hell? Does Snow have that part?"  
"Everyone deserves a shot at a part.You should know that more than anyone."  
"Cut the crap. We both know Snow can't handle that role. Why'd you pick him?"  
"I don’t think you care why. I think you hoped you’d get that part simply because of your family. And now you’re jealous of Simon."  
"Are you kidding me? You’ve _never_ given me a lead role. I expected nothing from you and I never will. I just can’t understand why you’d shove someone so inexperienced into a role like that."  
"Of course you can't understand. The world handed everything to you because of that silver spoon in your mouth. I picked Snow because he's meant for it. And he's been chosen by the world to be a star. I know it. Ever since he came in, I saw it. A plan for him to succeed. He needs this role. He needs to be in the spotlight. You don't." David started to pace.  
"Excuse me? Have you forgotten all the years I put into your stupid classes, never getting my mum's teaching back ever again? I have no bloody silver spoon in my mouth since the world stole it away from me."  
"Besides that," David continued, clearly ignoring Baz, "Simon has this spark about him. I can't quite pin it down, but I know he’s meant to shine."  
"Whatever. If Snow's 'meant' to be the prince, then why am I 'meant' to be the evil stepmother?"  
"...well...you know..." David stopped pacing and refused to meet Baz's eyes.  
"No, I don't know. So tell me."  
"The evil stepmother is, well, evil."  
"So?"  
"I felt it fit."  
"Are you seriously calling me e—" Baz refused to say the word. It sounded dumb to say, a word belonging to video game villains.  
"Well Simon said—"  
"You're basing my castment on his opinions on me? You've known me for years!"  
"It's not like we've had a true conversation before."  
"Oh and you and Snow are good ol' mates then? No, I see. You just had to cast your cheerful little buddy instead of me, a horrible, miserable thing."  
"Basilton, listen to me." David's temper rose.  
"I've listened enough. And now I know for sure this place lost all its dignity when my mum died."

Baz began to turn for the door.

"Your mother left a legacy of elitism and pretentiousness! You know why I know you're a snob? Because you're her descendant. I've never met a Pitch that wasn't full of themself, and that doesn't stop with you. Your mum couldn't even stay alive to make her son the perfectionist she wanted everyone to be," David said, his index finger pressed on the wooden desk.

Baz breathed deeply and shook out his arms. David wanted a reaction from him. Well, he wasn't going to get it.

"You think I'm angry because I hate Snow. I don't. You're making a huge mistake putting him as the prince. He'll suffer and do it with a smile to please you, and you know it. You don't care about Snow. You care about submissiveness."

Baz walked coolly out David's office, ignoring the confused looks of dancers in the hallway who likely heard vague yelling seeping out the office walls. By the time he returned to the main foyer, Snow and Bunce had left for class. Baz tried to go to his own class without steaming with emotion. Unfortunately, once Snow entered his thoughts, class began to feel like a haze.

Love is a weird thing.


	3. Beat 3: Accelerando

It's been one month since the horrid cast list was taped to the door. Dances were still getting choreographed, but most had enough bulk in them to show off. And so, there the company sat, at the front of the room, to watch their fellow students perform half-finished dances. Baz sat at the front of the room's center, hugging his knees to his chest. His short ponytail pressed against the mirror as he lifted his head to watch.

Snow approached the center of the floor, tapping his fingers nervously. Bunce, stretched out beside Baz, gave an encouraging thumbs up. Snow returned the exchange with a quick nod and took a deep breath. From the corner of the room, David stood with his hands on hips, narrowing his eyes slightly whenever Snow displayed a sign of uneasiness.

Another breath and nod from Snow, and the music began. Snow started with sharp movements, edging each beat of the song. Baz could easily pick out many technique flaws. Sure, Snow pointed his toes and turned out from time to time, but his foot would sickle, and he often forget to spot. Baz leaned against the wall. Just as he suspected. Snow wasn't experienced enough to handle the role. There Snow was, embarrassing himself in front of the whole class, and it was all David's fault. Nevertheless, Baz kept his eyes on Snow, correcting each mistake in his inner dialogue. This was going to be painful.

As the music carried on, however, Baz began to see something unraveling within Snow. The nerves held in those first sharp movements faded away. Bronze curls bounced and blue eyes sparked as Snow seemed to become part of the song. He filled every movement with emotion. He seemed to tell a story to an enthralled audience. Every beat was poetry, and suddenly the flaws Snow exhibited didn't feel as important.

Baz could still see the sickled feet and failure to spot, but he couldn't care less. All at once, he remembered why he ever fell in love with this git. Snow's mind was far from remembering technique. He didn't seem to think, only feel. His dance called to Baz, like a hand pulling into the uncontrollable waves of the ocean. Baz was, in fact, drowning. He tried desperately to claw away the salt water and return to the surface, but those blue eyes kept pulling him down, deeper into an endless pit of unrequited love.

At the same time, he still had a glance of life outside the water. Snow's horrid technique still weighed him down. Baz might be swept by Snow's performance, but not everyone else will accept the imperfections. Baz wasn't sure how the other students were faring, but he couldn't imagine all of them as breathless as himself. Wellbelove certainly wasn't, as she simply watched as if it were some sort of test to spot all of the mistakes. Meanwhile, David hardly glanced at the dance, leaving halfway through and muttering corrections at Snow as he walked out the door.

It was then that Baz realized the reality of his worries. David never bothered to even try to fix Snow's mistakes correctly or teach him with patience. He just let Snow off on his own without any instructions, yet at the same time he expected Snow to be perfect. That bastard was so hooked up on chosen oneness that he completely ignored actually providing Snow with any kind of help. Snow wouldn't be able to perform without proper teaching. He needed someone who was unafraid to correct him. Someone obsessed with making sure he was as perfect as possible. Someone like Natasha Pitch. Someone like...

Baz.

Baz straightened up hastily, thoughts revolving his mind. No way would Snow let Baz teach him...but... what if he did? No, no. Baz shouldn't've let his emotions take hold of him. He needed to come back to reality. A reality where Snow would believe Baz's teaching was all an evil plot of some sort. But still, as Baz watched Snow continue to move across the dance floor, seemingly filling the room with light and warmth, he knew it was worth a shot.

When the music ended, Snow wasted no time absorbing the scattered applause and practically bolted toward Bunce. The students all emptied into the hallway to prepare for their next class. Baz watched Snow and Bunce head to their infamous corner and change their shoes. That corner, Baz remembered, was where Bunce sat alone some months ago, occasionally making small conversation with Wellbelove.

Alright, thought Baz, it was now or never. He edged toward the two, scripting out the conversation and avoiding their eyes.

"What'd you want Baz?" Bunce spoke up. Crap. Baz was supposed to start it. Whatever, the show must go on.  
"I just wanted to tell Snow that..." He trailed off. How was he supposed to do this? And without hurting Snow's feelings too much? How does one just straight up tell someone they're not good enough?  
"...your technique sucks."

Like that, he guessed.

"Gee thanks," Snow sarcastically replied.  
"Alright, your endurance and emotion aren't that bad, but your technique makes me want to set myself on fire."  
"Okay...? And you're telling me this because...?"  
"Well, because David doesn't seem to want to fix you, since he's all entranced by y—"  
"Entranced?" Bunce said.  
"Yes, entranced, seduced, whatever the fuck you want to call it. The important part is that since David won't help you, I figured it would be a good idea if—"  
"Seduced sounds even worse," Snow said.  
"Yeah," Bunce added on, "I really don't want to think about David in either of those situations."  
"Either way," Baz said, a bit louder than usual, "David's not going to correct you. And so—"  
"Never going to correct me? He yells at me all the time! Well, he doesn’t actually yell, but he tells me I’m doing stuff wrong," argued Snow.  
"Listen, one look at your dancing tells me that those corrections aren’t landing. I know you just joined ballet, but we’ve had newcomers before. And those that were only taught by David did far worse than the others. And now all this Chosen One crap is making it even worse. I’ve been taught by him before. And all I’ve gotten were lectures about how worthless I am. Does he ever really correct or help you?”  
"I don’t know. Maybe not, but..."  
"Exactly, which is why I propose—"  
"Propose? Couldn't sound more pretentious if you tried," said Bunce.  
"Thanks Bunce, that's my only goal in life. To be as pretentious as possible."  
"Why do you call everybody by their last names?" Snow butted in.  
"Cuz he's a snob," said Bunce  
"Is that a thing snobs do?" he said.  
"I'd imagine," she answered  
"But is there a difference between snobbery and pretentiousness?"  
"Simon, I'm pretty sure those are called synonyms."  
"Cinnamons?" Snow asked.  
"No, not cinnamons. Synonyms. Get your mind off of food for one minute," said Bunce.  
"What else should my mind be on?"  
"Anyway," interrupted Baz, throwing his hands up in the air, "about your dancing..."  
"Oh yeah, my dancing. You have more complaints about that?"  
"Maybe he's not trying to be mean," Bunce offered up.  
"Sure, and he didn't push me down the stairs two years ago—"  
"I want to teach you!" Baz suddenly shouted. "Dear god, let me speak for two seconds!"  
Snow and Bunce stared at him, eyebrows knitted together.  
"I figured that since David is no help to you, I could teach you the technique you came here to learn. I know it's weird of me, but it's been bothering me, okay? It's okay if you don't want my snobiness to be near you, but I just thought I could help."

Baz looked down at the ground, sighed, and walked away. He grimaced at his stupidity. What would Snow want with him? To Snow, Baz was just a pretentious snob, he even said it himself.

"Baz, wait," Snow called after him.  
Baz glanced back, hope filling his dead heart.  
"What time's our first lesson?"


	4. Beat 4: Delicato

"Ankles forward! Chest up! Square off!"

Demands from Baz echoed in the studio as Simon danced his solo. Early morning rays shone on the wooden floor through the long, half-wall windows, the dust dancing through the air. Based on his past experience with Baz, Simon expected nothing less than criticism from him. However, having a lesson not mixed with vague reprimands and glowing praise was still a bit of a shock.

If someone asked Simon why he agreed to Baz’s lessons, he wouldn’t be able to give an answer. He knew that for a fact, because Penny had asked him the same thing.

“You don’t know?” she asked when Simon simply shrugged.  
“I guess so,” Simon had responded.  
“Your arch nemesis who you always swear is going to kill you one day offers you ballet lessons and you accept without any reason?”  
“Penny, I just don’t know. Do I really need a reason for everything I do? He was offering, so why not? Maybe I felt bad after he walked away? But I dunno. I guess I might as well find out what he has to say.”

Simon hit his final pose, barely hearing Baz's instructions to tuck his thumbs in. Simon heaved for air, pressing his hand against his chest.

"You need some water?" Baz asked. It seemed that the cold Baz had some pity in him.  
"Forgot...to...bring...any," Simon said.  
Baz sighed. "Of course you did." He crouched down, rummaged through the bag he left on the floor, and conjured a water bottle. He tossed it to a shocked Simon.  
"Th...thanks," Simon said. Baz shrugged and pulled out another bottle for himself.  
"How many of those do you have?" asked Simon.  
"I don't know. A bunch. I got them from David's office."  
"You stole them?"  
"It's not like he uses them. He just hoards them up like some failed dragon."  
"Hmm."  
"Alright," announced Baz, placing his half full water bottle behind himself, "you don't seem to understand what I mean when I correct as you dance, or if you do, you do it wrong. So, I propose— I mean, suggest— we go to the barre and work on technique there."

Simon nodded, and the two headed over to the long wooden barre hanging from the back wall. Simon placed one hand on it and stood profile, like he'd seen Baz do. By instinct, Baz found a place in front, his back to Simon, after starting up the warmup music. As soft piano music drifted to their ears, Baz instructed.

"We'll do a basic tendu combination, with the pliés in between, and a relevé at the end. Both sides. Got it?"  
"Sure..." Simon only knew one of the French words Baz spat out, and it wasn't from dance.  
"Alright, tendu!"  
"Oh, tendu. I thought you said fondue."  
"Please say you're joking." Baz dropped his ballet posture and turned around to face Simon, his palm pressed to his forehead. "Did you ever have a proper warm up before?"  
"Not exactly. David said it was a waste of time and ‘You’re not a child. We must focus on your main dance.’"  
Baz groaned and rolled his eyes.  
"Well," he said, shaking out his arms, "it won't do you much good if I'm facing away from you during the exercise, will it?"  
Baz assumed his posture once again, this time facing a relieved Simon.  
"Just follow me."  
Simon mimicked Baz's stance. When Baz pointed his foot out, Simon did as well.  
"That's it," Baz said encouragingly. "Mirror my movements."

The two were silent as Baz taught Simon the combination. Baz would bend his legs, and Simon would follow along, carefully mimicking as best he could. Facing each other was certainly an unorthodox method, and it did have its flaws. Sometimes their pointed toes would go out too far and touch, or their arms would reach forward, the tips of their fingers making contact. But it worked for Simon, looking and imitating. It was awkward staring straight at Baz, and he felt a strange beat in his heart whenever they accidentally touched. But since Baz's eyes followed his own arms, they didn't make eye contact.

When the last section came around, however, their arms reached forward, and Baz, whose eyes were previously preoccupied with the tips of his own fingers, glanced at Simon.

Simon felt like he'd been caught, though he didn't do anything wrong. He was supposed to watch what Baz was doing, right? Them staring straight at each other wasn't weird. Then why did his heart seem to pound in his ears? His chest warmed, and his veins pumped so loudly he worried Baz would hear. He couldn't feel his legs and wasn't sure if he was even doing his tendu derrière correctly or at all. All he could focus on was those eyes. The dark gray eyes that suddenly didn't seem cold but rather supportive and trustworthy.

He didn't think he ever thought of Baz like that. Gorgeous and mean, yes, but kind? Part of him wondered if Baz had offered teaching just to yell at Simon and brag about his experience, but was there a possibility that Baz genuinely wanted to help? Looking into those eyes, the latter seemed certain.

"Relevé."  
"Hmm?"  
"Relevé."  
Simon suddenly noticed that Baz looked taller. He pulled his eyes away from Baz’s and realized Baz was standing on his toes.  
"Oh!" Simon stood his toes as well, trying to focus on his balance.  
"Come down."  
Simon flopped back onto his feet.  
"And finish."  
Simon imatated Baz's looking off to the side and posing his arms in a circle shape.

The music stopped, and Baz strode to the CD player to stop it from going to the next track. Simon stared after him.


	5. Beat 5: Poco a Poco Crescendo

For the next few weeks, all the lessons were held at the barre. After that first session of mostly silence, Baz began speaking more, unfortunately for Simon. He had to admit, Baz's knowledge was impressive and helpful, but he itched to dance the choreographed routines by David. Baz had said that Simon needed to be more comfortable with his technique and all that before they returned to that dance, but where was the fun in that?

Today, the windows were sprinkled with raindrops, and the huge windows were uncharacteristically shut. The rhythm of the rain calmed even Simon's most worrisome thoughts.   

As Simon lifted his leg in an arabesque, he felt Baz's eyes pouring over him. Immediately, Simon straightened his posture and turned out a bit more. 

"You're correcting yourself. That's good," said Baz.

Simon beamed. Weeks ago, he might've brushed off any comment uttered by Baz. But now, suddenly Baz's praise meant much more.

"Lift your tricep a bit more though," suggested Baz.  
Simon groaned. "It hurts!"  
"If it hurts..."  
"...You're doing it right!" they chanted together. Simon cackled loudly, while Baz held his hand in front of his mouth and tried to suppress his giggles.  
"Aaanyway," Baz said, "do that attitude devant."  
Simon complied.  
"Beau— good," Baz complimented.

Although Baz had already given his approval, Simon fixed himself up a bit more. He pointed his feet rather than his toes and raised his posture as if a string were attached to his head, just as Baz taught him.

"And finish."

Simon entered fifth position and stared over his left shoulder, looking right into the wall-length mirror on the opposite wall. A strange picture revealed itself in that mirror. He stared back at himself. Simon, the one David insisted on being the chosen one for the stage, learning basic technique from a boy he had once sworn was his enemy.

"Good. Water break?" Baz said.  
Simon had also learned about frequent water breaks. "Yeah, but just a quick question."  
Baz cocked his head to the side.  
"Do you think that we can...um...start practicing with my actual dance for the show? I know it's all technique, technique, and technique for you. But if I could apply the techniq—"  
"Yeah we could do that."  
"Oh." What kind of world was this? Here Simon is the one talking with fancy words and Baz is the casual one? These lessons have totally flipped everything upside down.

They moved center stage, and Baz switched on the music. The familiar tune bounced into the room, and away went Simon.

He floated on each note, not once losing focus on his newly found technique but never forgetting the meaning and power of the song. He was the prince. Important, kind, and a bit daft about shoe sizes. His pain ached throughout him, granting a smile. He had grown sureness in his step, now knowing where each part of his body was supposed to go instead of just guessing.

He hit his final pose, finished with his choreographed gestures to an imaginary audience, and faced Baz, hope in his heart. Baz simply stared at Simon's feet thoughtfully, his hand on his chin.

"Hit that last pose again," he said.  
Simon scrambled to the last position before his bows, a lunge with one arm reaching forward and the other behind him.

Baz came up to Simon and inspected him.

"Something doesn't feel quite right..." he muttered. "Ah, there it is."  
Baz leaned over and held Simon's fingers. They loosened at his touch. "They're too stiff," Baz explained. He looked into Simon's eyes, still holding his hand. "Sharp movements may look nice but..."  
He absentmindedly let his thumb run down Simon's index finger. "...you're the prince. The prince is flowy, relaxed, and..." He thought for a second. "The prince is in love."

Baz stepped back, releasing Simon's hand. Simon stayed in his position, kneeling on one leg and reaching towards Baz.

"Emulate love. Dance in love." Baz returned to the front of the room to start the music up again.  
Simon rushed to return to the first position of the dance. He only had a few seconds before the music started again. Only a few seconds to emulate love. He looked at Baz, took a breath, and began the dance.

 

"Not bad," Baz commented to an exasperated Snow.  
Snow flopped onto the floor and heaved for air.  
"Here," Baz said, handing a stolen water bottle to Snow.

Baz watched Snow chug the water down like his life depended on it. Baz guessed his words had some effect on Snow then. It was hard to act casual after he just gave a speech about love and shit. But spending all this time with Snow had given him adequate practise of hiding behind a stony expression.

Baz sat down next to Snow's floor-bound body.  
"You alright? You put a lot of effort in that one."  
"Yeah."  
Baz nodded, not sure what to say.  
"I wanna see yours," Snow said, lifting his arm off the ground and pointing at Baz.  
"My what?"  
"Your dance. Your evil stepmother dance. Wait why are you playing a girl's role." Snow's tired state gave him a monotone voice, making his question sound like a statement.  
"In many Cinderella ballets, the stepsisters are played by guys. It's supposed to add comedy and make them more 'ugly.' David told me during some rehearsal that he didn't want to cast me as either of them because I'd probably be too pretentious to have such an undignified role. Which is correct, but hearing it from him was horrid. Also, Dev and Niall are the stepsisters, and he knows I'm friends with them. And..."

Baz stopped himself. No, he wasn't going to bring up that first conversation he had with David after the cast list went up. The one where Snow's insistence on Baz's "evilness" influenced David's casting. The one where David insulted his mother.

"Ok then. Show me your dance," Snow insisted.  
"I don't have a solo like you, you know. All I have is a trio with Dev and Niall."  
"So."  
Baz stared at him.  
"Show me your part of it."  
"Why?"  
"I just wanna see it. And I'm really tired and wanna lie here for a bit."

Baz sighed, and stood up to start David's dance.

Off he went, dancing to the song, keeping each move on time and making sure every beat was perfect. Part of him hoped he was impressing Snow, but he shoved that thought down. He shouldn't care what Snow thought. It wasn't like Snow would ever care for him the way he did for Snow. Ugh, he messed up his turn. Better focus now, so the rest of the dance didn't look like shit.

He continued on, striking each pose with confidence, lifting his arms with strength and kicking each leg to its full height. In the back of his mind, he knew he danced for Snow. But he learned his lesson about focusing and ignored his mind. After he pretended to push the stepsisters offstage, he hit his final pose, staring at himself in the mirror. There. Almost perfect. He'd better improve before the show.

Snow simply sat like a statue. Not applauding. Not booing. Just sitting and staring.

"Snow?" Baz asked, a little worried.  
"You should've been the prince," Snow suddenly said.  
"What?" Baz moved to sit cross-legged next to Snow.  
"The way you danced. You danced in love."  
Baz groaned. So Snow wasn't going to forget that speech about love.

"You were flowy. Perfect. The way a prince would dance."  
"Well, I'm not the Ballet Chosen One like you, so David would never cast me in your role."  
"Ballet Chosen One?"  
"What? We both know you only got that role because of David's obsession with you."  
"I'd like to think I have some sort of skill," Snow said.  
"Oh, come on. This is the first year you're doing ballet, and you have a lead role. Doesn't that sound a little wayward to you?"  
"Well it’s not like you ever got a lead role anyway. So maybe you don’t know shit about how much skill I have.”  
“Are you serious? My family owns the largest dance company in the world, I was raised by a ballet expert, and I’ve been doing ballet since I could walk. Of course I know more than you. David’s bullshit casting means nothing.”  
“Maybe it’s just ‘bullshit casting’ to you because you’re so self-centered that you can’t imagine people being better than you.”  
“‘Self-centered?’ I’ve wasted my life in this studio without even an ounce of praise. Even the not-David teachers don’t bother praising me because they just expect me to be perfect like my mother!” Baz’s voice rose even louder.  
“Oh it must be so sad for you. Being heir to the ballet dynasty must be so difficult.”  
“It is when I’m completely lost without my mum!”  
“Or maybe you just shit all over David because you can’t get over your mum dying more than ten fucking years ago!”

Snow quickly threw his hand to his mouth. Baz leaned away in shock. He turned away from Snow, hugging his knees to chest. He stared at the empty wooden floor before he began to slowly shake his head at the ground.

"God, Snow. Didn't expect you to go for the lowest blow," he muttered.  
"Baz, I didn't mean—"  
"Mean what? What I assume you've been thinking since you saw me at this studio? That I've always had a silver spoon in my mouth and never earned anything on my own?"  
"Baz..."  
"I hope you realize that nothing I've done has ever been easy. Nothing. I don't get any silver spoons for being a Pitch except the constant fear of never being good enough. I had a mother who knew just how to teach and motivate me, but she's gone, so now I have nobody. I didn't get anything because of my mum. David doesn't give a fuck about my mum. I got any sort of skill from hard work. That's it." Baz pinned his hard gaze on Snow.  
“Baz, I’m sorry,” said Snow. He awkwardly placed a hand on Baz’s knee. “What I said was stupid. I didn’t mean it. I guess I got a bit too much of an ego boost from this casting, and I was a bit jealous of you.”  
“Jealous? Of me?”

Snow said nothing for a bit, then he started to laugh. Baz watched in horror as Snow chuckled and chortled until his sides hurt. He laughed so much he fell over, which only made him laugh more.

"Are you mocking me?" Baz asked.  
"No," Snow said in between giggles, "It’s just...I can’t believe you’re surprised at me being jealous of you when you just danced far better than I could ever do!"  
"Your sense of humor is very strange."  
"So is your habit of speaking soliloquies. We came here for a dance lesson and got monologues instead." Snow snorted a bit as he continued his senseless laughter.  
Baz rolled his eyes, smiling a bit. He couldn't help cracking a grin at this bumbling idiot.

"Though in all seriousness, I do have a critique about your dance." Snow scrambled to sit up as he gave Baz an eager smile.  
"You? Giving me critique? Well isn't this interesting."  
"Yup! Just give me a second." Snow took his time looking around the studio, seemingly searching for the right words.

"Okay," he finally said. "Here goes. I think you're doing everything perfect. Like, completely perfect. You've got the technique. You got the style. I do think you could use a little more evilness in your dance. But! You're thinking too much."  
"Thinking too much?"  
"Yes! You don't seem to be a part of the music. You focus entirely on the dance. The music is just as important. If you want to call to the audience, you can't just dance. You have to feel."

Baz sat dumbfounded. Snow actually had a good point. But there was one problem.  
"I can't simply stop thinking. There's so much that goes into ballet. I can't just 'feel the music' and lollygag around the stage."  
"Sure you can!"  
"How?"  
"With practise, like all things in life."  
Snow stood up and hopped on over to the stereo and tossed in a random CD. Haydn's "Surprise" Symphony No. 94 filled the room.  
"This is a pretty song," Snow remarked at the light and airy notes.  
Baz smiled to himself as he picked himself off the ground and joined Snow at the center of the room.  
"Here. Let's dance to it together and make up the moves as we go," suggested Snow.  
"You just want to improvise the whole dance?"  
"Yeah. That's how I choreographed at my old studio."  
"You were a choreographer?"  
"Just for the little kids. I came up with all the moves by improvising, recording it, and seeing what sticks. It was fun."  
"Sounds like anarchy."  
"Come on. Just follow me until you get a taste for the music."  
"Alright."

Snow began to move in quick movements, mimicking the soft staccato of the song. Baz followed the tiny hops and turns hesitantly. Snow, encouraged by Baz's participation, continued to dance until—

"JESUS CHRIST!" Snow screamed, falling to the ground in shock.  
Baz laughed at him, pointing at him with one hand and clutching his stomach with the other.  
"What the fuck was that?" Snow yelled.

Baz continued to laugh. Part of the "surprise" of Haydn's "Surprise Symphony" was the sudden loud notes that screamed after many measures of quiet. Even in 1792, people trolled each other with jump scares.

"I had to try so hard not to laugh when you started the song," said Baz.  
"Dear Lord. Okay, you got me."  
"Well, genius, we'd better do your whole improvising schtick now." Baz helped Snow up to his feet.  
"You better participate after making me go through that."  
"You're the one who started the song!"  
"A little warning would've been nice!"  
"Oh, hush up. You know it was funny."  
Snow grinned a bit.  
"Okay, it was pretty funny. Now, can we actually dance?"  
"Sure."

Snow cleared all of their banter from his mind and began to dance. He bounced with the violins, throwing his arms out at each large note. Baz stared carefully and tried his best to follow along. His version didn't differ much from Snow's. He just matched the movements in front of him. But then came another part with a loud and uncompromising attitude. Snow didn't change much about his dance, not expecting the sudden change. Baz sourly noticed those foolishly safe movements. Haydn deserved better for those powerful measures. Baz's desire to fix what was broken overcame his fear of vulnerability, and he danced the part the way it was meant to be done. He threw himself into the air and spun four pirouettes. His pirouettes turned to pichays as his turns began to move. He ended up turning in a circle surrounding Snow, who went along with it and stayed in the center, his arms reaching high over Baz's head.

The song reached a more joyful and buoyant ground, and the two boys followed suit. This time, Baz didn't hesitate in creating his own moves. He leaped and chasséd in small circles around himself. He didn't pay attention to Snow or his own technique. He just let the music push him along, the need to create a perfect dance to the song pulsing every step. The flutes needed the correct leg movements, and the violins needed the correct arm movements. He finally paid attention to the light drizzle outside, the music underneath his own song.

Every sudden shift to big and tyrannical music in the song caused Baz to shine with energy. He'd move with the music as if he were the percussionist hitting the drums. When the song came to a peaceful ending, Baz walked around himself slowly and kneeled down. He ended the song with only arms, fluttering at some parts and scooping up the air at others. His final pose left him with his wrists crossed at his heart, looking at the ground.

Snow applauded.  
"Yes, Baz! That was awesome!"  
"Is this why you didn't know anything about technique? You'd just dance without order at your old studio?"  
"That and the fact that I only took hip hop."  
"Oh right. I forgot."  
"Well? How'd you like it?"  
"Improvisation? I thought it was very nice. It was fun to not care about being perfect for a bit."  
“Then you’d love hip hop.”  
“I’d never fall to that anarchy.”


	6. Beat 6: Dissonance

“This will be anarchy,” said Baz.

He, Snow, and Bunce all stood outside a white detached house pulsing pop music. Cars parked themselves down the road, and the night sky stretched around them.

“You didn’t have to come,” Bunce pointed out.  
“Well, Snow inviting me to a party full of hip hop dancers left me in a bit of a shock, alright?”  
“It’s just a post-recital party,” said Snow.  
“With your entire hip hop studio. A bit terrifying if you ask me. I still don’t understand why you invited me.”  
“I mean, I thought it was a nice thing to do. Also, you don’t seem to appreciate hip hop that much.”  
“Why should I?”  
“There’s my reason to invite you.”

Snow smirked at Baz’s confused expression and began to lead them into the house. He slowed down as they advanced until he suddenly stopped at the front door. Bunce rolled her eyes and made her way to the front of their group.

“We ready?” she asked.  
Snow and Baz nodded, and Bunce swung open the wooden door to the madness inside.

Well, not the madness you’d expect from a typical house party from any teen movie. No one was visibly drunk or high, since Gareth’s parents watched the party like a hawk, vetting each party-goer for any sign of misconduct. Still, a loud group of teenagers taking Just Dance and Monopoly way too seriously was enough to cause alarm. Not to mention the insanity bound to lie in the basement, indicated by the booming music they had heard outside.

“Alright, where do you guys wanna go first?” asked Bunce.  
Snow stared blankly, shifting his eyes from one end of the house to the other.  
“Simon?”  
“I, uh,” he started, “I haven’t seen these guys since I started ballet. It’s...weird.”  
“We see them at school,” said Bunce.  
“You know I’ve only really talked to them at dance. I’ve seen them every week for so long but now it’s…”  
“Isolated.” said Baz.  
Snow looked up at him.  
“There’s been disconnect ever since nothing forced you to hang out with them.”  
“Yeah,” Snow agreed.  
“Well, you don’t need this many friends anyway,” said Bunce. “But we can still have fun. Let’s get to the basement. That’s probably where the real party’s at.”  
“Wouldn’t take you as someone for partying,” said Baz.  
“I’m not,” she admitted, “but this is a party with our hip hop class. Much different than your standard house party.”  
“I don’t understand…”  
“You will.” And so she strolled down the basement stairs, beckoning the boys to follow her.

The music finally lost its muffled tone as the three entered the large, bright room. Any furniture had been shoved against the walls, and the dancers’ feet pounded the carpeted floor. A boombox sat on a card table, blasting lyrics for the party-goers to shout along to.

“Oh boy,” said Baz, slowly backing away with his hands up in defence.  
“Come on,” said Snow, “it’s not as bad as you think.”

Snow grabbed Baz’s hand and yanked him to the makeshift dance floor. Everyone crowded around the boombox, forming a circle surrounding a few dancers. Those in the center danced in synchronization, watching the others for their cues. They all looked like experts to Baz, hitting each beat on time while having a blast. Snow, Bunce, and Baz managed to find a spot big enough for the three of them. They bounced and swayed with the beat, Baz glancing around the room often, his eyes scattered and smile tight.

“What’s the deal with the circle?” Baz asked.  
“We play songs we used in a show or choreographed in class,” Snow explained. “Whoever knows the dance does it in the center, and the rest of us watch.”  
“And that’s what makes it special?”  
“It takes the pressure off when you have choreographed dances lined up,” said Bunce. “I like it more than other parties. It’s like a less stressful recital.”  
Baz nodded and turned back to the dancers’ performance. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the undignified dancing.

Snow’s former classmates rocked the floor. Their moves were complicated and unconventional, yet they worked to capture the song’s tone. When the music ended, everyone cheered and waited with bated breath for the next song.

When those first notes sounded, Bunce squealed and dragged Snow by the hand to the circle’s center. Baz watched from the outside as the two joined a sizable group. The group gave themselves a second to prepare, then counted four beats with head nods, and began their dance.

Baz did his best to watch the whole group, but he couldn’t help his eyes drifting to Snow. After all, Snow was the dancer nearest to him, so who could blame him? But Baz knew it wasn’t just location that fixed his stare.

Snow danced with a confidence Baz had never seen before. Here, Snow knew who he was. Snow knew which each step meant. Snow knew how to move his body properly. When he danced ballet, there was a strange air of him pretending to be someone else. He still danced ballet genuinely and worked hard, but Baz wondered if Snow ever felt entirely safe at the PDC.

This was the place Snow knew. These were his people. This was his home.

A home that Baz would never be able to replicate.

Before Baz could let his mind wander down a dark hole of self hatred, a hand reached out to him. There Snow stood. No longer dancing, but staring straight at Baz with his hand out.

“What are you doing?” Baz asked.  
“Come on, join us! It’ll be fun!” said Snow.  
“I know absolutely nothing about hip hop. It’ll be a colossal fuck-up.”  
“Nah. It’s an old dance. Like, four years old I think. It’s pretty easy.”  
“It certainly didn’t look easy. And how the fuck do you remember a four year old dance?”  
“It’s an iconic one. Come on!” Snow still stood with his arm reaching out. Baz wondered why he didn't put it down. It had to be aching by this point.  
“I don’t think I can.” Baz shifted his gaze to the people around him. The dancers and experts he would pale in comparison to. Here, he was absolutely useless.

“Hey, don’t worry about them,” said Snow. Baz looked back at him. “There’s so much going on, they’ll hardly notice anything. Just focus on me.”  
Baz pressed his lips together. “Only you?”  
“I guess.”  
Baz glanced around at the people around him one last time before finally meeting Snow’s eyes. “Okay. I… I think I can let myself do that.”

He took Snow’s hand, and a snug, trustful grip awaited him. Snow let Baz walk into the center, and together, they moved.

Baz’s eyes hardly left Snow’s as they spun and grooved to the beat. They faced one another, Baz mimicking Simon’s moves as best he could. They were probably off beat, and, based on what Baz could see from the corner of his eye, they moved slower than the dancers around them.

But, for once, Baz didn’t mind not knowing what he was doing. If he did, he would have to stop dancing, and then Snow would stop smiling at him. And there was nothing else Baz wanted to see. For once, he was free to adore Snow and stare at him for as long as he wanted, blue eyes and all.

His cheeks hurt, but he paid no mind to whatever he was emoting. He simply didn’t have the time to worry. Not when hip hop suddenly became so goddamn difficult and needed a million moves each second.

He ached for breath, full of heat, light, and sound. His insides whirled with emotion, the exhilaration filling his chest with each second he stared at Snow. Everything was just so _loud_ , and soon he worried he couldn’t take it.

“Hey, if you wanna stop, it’s okay,” Snow said.  
“No I’m fine,” said Baz, almost automatically.  
“Are you sure? I’m getting pretty tired too. A little break will do us both good.”  
“I...I guess you’re right. This is a lot right now.”  
“Then I say we rest up,” said Snow before they turned and left the circle. His hand brushed lightly against Baz’s back.  
“Alright, but don’t think we’re quitting altogether. That was too much hip hop to give up now.”

Snow smiled. Not the carefree, full-toothed smile he had as they were dancing, but a small, soft raising of his lips’ inner corners. Baz had never seen a smile look so genuine, and for the first time in a long while, he felt safe. Perhaps he could lose himself with this boy. Perhaps he could break down any barrier and simply let himself appreciate the time he had with Snow. Because at the end of the day, Baz trusted him.

And he didn’t think he could say that about anyone else.

 

The three teenagers eventually found themselves lying on the lawn outside. The night had fully succumbed to a twilight sky, and stars peeked out from behind heavy clouds.

“Jesus,” said Baz, lying between Simon and Penny, “I think my entire body has been drained of energy.”  
“I mean, we did dance the entire night,” Penny pointed out.  
“Still. I guess I can finally muster some appreciation for hip hop. That shit is way harder than I thought.”  
“Fucking finally!” Penny shot her arms into the air before flopping them back onto the ground.  
“I never realized how much goes into it. I must’ve looked like a turtle all night,” Baz said.  
“Well, you were a turtle having a good time,” said Simon.

And, Simon had to admit, an adorable turtle at that.

“I guess. I thought it would be so much chiller without all of ballet’s rules, but there must be a million unwritten rules to get your hips to move right.”  
Penny laughed. “It’s so strange to hear you not scoff at hip hop. Next thing you know, you’ll be taking tap!”  
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Baz said.

They lay there for a bit, staring at the open sky and talking of nothing important., rambling and mumbling about this and that for a quick laugh.

It wasn’t long before Simon spoke up.  
“Hey, we should probably head home. We can’t lay on Gareth’s lawn forever.”  
“Yeah. I guess you’re right, but I’m so lazy. I don’t wanna get up,” said Penny.  
“Come on,” Simon insisted, “what kind of mom friend would you be if we didn’t get enough sleep?”  
“I am NOT the mom friend.”  
“But you are the most functional,” Baz chimed in.  
“If I’m the most functional, that’s a big yikes.”  
“Still a mom friend,” said Snow.  
“No.” Penny groaned, pressing her hands to her eyes.  
“Mom friend!”  
“Mom friend,” Baz agreed.  
“Whatever, let’s just get off this grass before Baz complains it’s staining his new coat.”  
“I appreciate your concern,” he said.

They peeled themselves off the ground, and headed to the places they called home.


	7. Beat 7: Symphony

Like every year, the recital came all too early. Before Simon could say, "sour cherry scones," he was waiting backstage, ready for his turn to go on. He'd already seen Agatha gracefully dance with a broom, Baz command the stage with Dev and Niall by his side, and Penny hop gleefully as the fairy godmother. Now came his time to shine. To be the prince he had been training to be.

The stage crew hurriedly changed the scene to a grand ballroom as Simon took his place. He had to become the prince that David— no. The prince that Baz taught him to be. A prince not unlike himself. A prince hoping to find that special someone. A prince who was foolish, but kind. Simon noticed Baz watching him from backstage. Simon smiled and knew it wasn't hard to be the prince. The prince was him. All Simon had to do was remember to turn out.

The dance began, and his mind emptied.

 

Waiting by Snow’s chair in the boys’ dressing room, Baz clutched a bouquet with clammy hands. Why did it feel like all the other guys in the room were staring at him? Surely they were all focusing on themselves, getting dressed and wiping off their makeup. So why could he feel their glances pouring on him? Baz checked his hair in the mirror adorned with lights around its border, just like those classic mirrors on Broadway. Baz had caught Bunce setting them up that morning before the show.

“Those lights are a little extra,” Baz had said. “And are you even allowed in the boys’ dressing room?”  
“It’s his first show. He deserves a little sparkle,” Bunce had replied curtly. “And I won’t get caught.”  
“I caught you.”  
“You don’t count.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Are you going to report me to David?”  
“No.”  
“Then you don’t count.”  
“I still think that’s a lot of risk for a little sparkle,” Baz carried on.  
“Oh, please. I’ve got it all worked out. I know when the guys, other than you, start arriving. Plus, I know where to hide if there’s some early birds. You’re not the only one who grew up in this studio.”  
Baz stared at her.  
“What?” Bunce had asked.  
“Nothing. It’s just— I’m so glad to talk to someone with brain cells after hanging out with Snow for so long.”  
Bunce had chuckled and stepped away from the mirror. “There. All done. I should get ready for the show now.”

Now, after a long night, the lights shone with pride around Snow’s mirror. The other guys in the room seemed to be finishing up and heading home, weighed down with bags and costumes. Baz’s own costume now rested on top of his chair, underneath the note Snow left that morning wishing Baz good luck.

Only a few lingerers remained in the dressing room now. Whatever was keeping Snow better be important. The other guys must be wondering what this self-respecting Pitch was doing, waiting around like an idiot.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. Baz froze. He knew they belonged to Snow. He gulped and tried his best to look natural when Snow burst through the door. He didn't spare Baz a glance as he sped to his chair and plopped in it. He flopped his head into his hands and stared at himself in the mirror.

"Uh, Snow?"  
"Baz!" Snow woke up from whatever trance he was in and faced him. "I didn't even realize you were here!"  
"Yeah, um..." Baz fought for words. "Good job. I, uh, got these for you."  
Baz held out the flower bouquet, and Snow slowly accepted them.  
"That's pretty cheesy of you."  
"Just be glad I'm being nice to you, okay?"  
Snow smiled and gripped the flowers.

In Baz's opinion, Snow honestly did do an excellent job. Baz hardly remembered the version he'd seen many months ago, when Snow seemed to flail his arms around and place his feet wherever he wanted. Snow danced refined yet full of emotion. He was nowhere near perfect, for he was himself. And that was all he needed to be. He blossomed into the potential he always had. And Baz could take all the credit for it, but there was no reason to lie. Snow craved learning the entire time Baz taught. He had an unlimited endurance that he just needed to learn how to use. All Baz did was polish him up. Okay, he did more than that, but at least he can have delusions of humbleness.

"Let's go see Penny," said Snow, hoping off his seat.

 

Simon led Baz by the hand to the main foyer. Lingering audience members conversed, crowding up the room while Simon and Baz found a secluded corner to wait for Penny. They all agreed to meet here after the show, knowing that David wouldn't be too happy about them entering the girl's dressing room.

"Penny!" Simon called when she emerged from the hall.  
"Hey," she said. Agatha trailed behind her.  
"I'm just waiting for my ride," Agatha hurriedly explained as she whizzed past the group.

Simon watched her go. Strange how a couple of arguments can turn a friend into a stranger.  
He spared a glance at Baz. Odd how a couple of conversations can turn an enemy to a...friend. Simon smiled softly.

Simon let himself reminisce on Baz’s performance that night. He stunned the audience as the evil stepmother. The creepy crawly music matched Baz's movements and expression perfectly. It was almost funny seeing him act the way Simon always perceived him to be— nasty, evil, and plotting. As the ballet prolonged, Simon noticed Baz becoming softer in his dance. It seemed Baz wanted nothing more than to infuriate David and refuse to play the role David gave him. But perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps Baz fully engaged himself in the character and imagined the mindset of her. Beneath her hatred for Cinderella hid her love for her two daughters, a love so strong she'd destroy anything in the way of their happiness.

Or perhaps there lie no significant meaning, and Baz was just getting tired.

"I'll be right back," Baz called over his shoulder as he jogged in the direction that Agatha went.  
"What'd'ya think he's doing?" Penny asked Simon once Baz had melted into the crowd.  
"No idea."

 

Baz calibrated the impossibly blonde girl with impossible skill staring at impossibly large doors marked with EXIT.

"Wellbelove."  
"Oh, hi Baz."  
"What're you doing?"  
"Waiting for my ride."  
"No, I mean: what're you doing next season? Same old routine?"  
"I guess. But after that...after that I'm leaving. To California."  
Baz nodded.  
"I just have to go. I'll still dance, but I can't stay."  
"Care to explain why?" Baz asked.  
"I dunno. I guess I've never fit in here. But it's more than that. I've lived here for my whole life. I'm tired of it. My parents keep pushing me to stay here and find a nearby university and marry some nearby boy and raise three children in a nearby home."  
"And you're ready to be a rebellious teen?" Baz guessed.  
Wellbelove looked at him. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."  
"Who else will you tell?"  
Wellbelove stared behind Baz, back the way he came. "Simon and I used to date," she blurted out.  
"I know. Everyone at school wouldn't shut up about you guys being 'the ultimate power couple.'"  
Wellbelove ignored him. "Whenever I dreamed about leaving, I felt bad because it would mean losing him. And when we broke up last year, I thought I'd be sad. I wasn't. It was freeing. Once that weight was lifted, my desire to leave grew."  
"Strange. I'd think that _dating_ Snow would make anyone want to leave more."  
Wellbelove sighed. "Okay, I get it. You don't care."  
"On the contrary, I believe this to be quite interesting. You did good today by the way."  
"Good? At what?"  
"The show? The one we were all just in?" Baz gestured meaningfully at the crowded foyer.  
"Oh right. That. Thanks," she replied, and went back to staring at the unforgiving doors.

 

"Are you ready for next year?" Penny asked Simon.  
"Next year?"  
"Oh, Simon, did you really not start planning for next season?"  
"I guess I haven't really given it much thought."  
"Of course you didn't. I suppose you're going to stop going doing ballet, unless you'll miss Baz's Super-Amazing-Game-Changing Tutoring."  
"I never called it that."  
"You might as well have, the way you hyped it up."  
"Wait, Penny, David's coming."

David did indeed stroll up to the pair and begin to speak.  
"Wonderful job, Penelope," he said. "And Simon. Outstanding performance. You became the prince on the stage."  
"I have Baz to thank for that, sir," Simon answered. "He taught me a lot."  
“Taught you?”  
“Yes, sir. We worked really hard. He taught me everything I showed on stage tonight.”  
"Oh I see. He believes he can take my job. I'll be sure to tell him off. Don't worry, Simon."  
"No, sir. Baz did an awesome job. He taught so well."  
"Are you insulting my teaching?"  
"No sir. It's just—"  
"You are only to seek teaching from those who are professional as you attend the Pitch Dance Company."  
"Well I'm not going here next year so you won't have to worry about me."  
"You're not—" David sputtered.  
"And I would say me getting help from a Pitch at the Pitch Dance Company would provide me with an excellent education."

David inhaled a sharp breath and looked like he was about to attack any second—until someone called his name. David sighed and strode over to the someone’s congratulatory remarks.

"Damn Simon," said Penny. "I've never heard you talk back to David."  
"I had to. He was wrong."  
“Still. You seem especially angry. Did something happen?”  
Simon let out a breath through his nose. “You know how this last month you haven’t seen me in class? Well, David took me out of all of my classes and focused the last month before the show on teaching me. And he was brutal. Way worse than Baz. He screamed at every little thing I did wrong, and tried to take away any emotion I showed during my dances. I don’t understand. He spent the whole season ignoring me, then yells at me when I’m not perfect. Baz never screamed.”  
“Oh, Simon,” said Penny. “That sounds awful.”  
Simon shrugged. “It’s all over now. Don’t tell Baz about it. I think he’d actually kill David if he found out.”  
“You have my word. Thank god you’ll never have to be in a David class ever again.”  
“Yeah.”  
"Well," Penny said, checking her phone, "my ride's here. Do you need a ride, Simon?"  
"No, I think I'll stay here a bit. Baz can drive me home."  
"Alright then. See you later. Take care of yourself, alright?"  
"Alright."

Simon watched her go before looking for Baz, who was still talking to Agatha and visible now that the crowd had shrunk.

Baz seemed to smirk as he conversed with Agatha. He didn't look like he offered intelligent response and instead stuck with light jokes. Simon remembered himself telling David off with the confidence and word choice of...well....Baz. They certainly rubbed off on each other after this season.

Simon stared at the swoop of black hair on Baz's head, free from the small bun Baz had stuffed it into for the show. His widow's peak arched over his pale gray eyes. His appearance looked almost dead, but Baz was so alive. There was a spark in him that Simon was able to reach for. A spark that lit everyone who willing. It was always there.

It just needed someone to pull it out.


	8. Beat 8: Coda

Baz slowly opened the storage room's door, revealing the empty and dark hallway. The audience members have long since departed the theater, and the custodians only recently finished cleaning and locked the entrance. Baz had waited in that humid storage room for at least two hours, all because of that note Snow left.

When Baz had finished talking to Wellbelove that night, he returned to where he last saw Snow and Bunce. Both were missing, so he simply headed to the dressing room. There rested a note on top of Baz's bag, saying to stay at the theater until all the people leave and then meet the note's author on the stage (please). It wasn't signed, but Baz knew that the handwriting and the outlandish ideas had to be Snow's.

The idea actually wasn't too outlandish. Baz's mother, before she died, would often lead little Baz in the strange adventure of wandering the halls of the empty theater. He and his mother probably didn't actually have to hide from the custodians. After all, Natasha Pitch owned the theater, so the custodians would have never spared them a glance. Still, his mother would yank him by the hand into unclean storage rooms and shush him.

"You have to be quiet! We're hiding from the monsters!"  
Baz would giggle and peek through the space between the wall and door, staring out at the small glimpse of the hallway. 

The Baz of today smiled to himself as he reminisced his mom and adventures. He crept down the dark hallway, knowing each path and turn to the stage. Once he reached the stage door, he noticed a minuscule scrap of wood wedged in the doorway. Snow actually had a coherent thought for once and anticipated the door being locked. Baz hmmed to himself and swung the door open, a draft of air smacking him in the face. 

His footsteps sounded on the wooden stage, each clunk from his shoes echoing throughout the empty theater. He thought again of Wellbelove. She seemed so lonely. Baz didn't know why he cared now. He hardly paid her a glance when he saw her alone at the studio. But after talking to her, he felt guilty for ignoring her. He'd have to ask to bring Wellbelove along the next time he, Snow, and Bunce hung out. 

Just when he thought he was alone, Snow emerged from the shadows at the other end of the stage. He slowly approached Baz, his hands clasped behind his back. He came to a stop about six feet away from Baz. 

"You came," said Snow.  
"Yup, I did," Baz replied. "Where did you hide out this whole time?"  
"Some closet backstage. Those janitors took forever to clean up!"  
"Well, when you have audience members who don't know how to clean up after themselves, someone has to do it."  
"I guess," said Snow. He unclasped his hands from behind his back and clasped them again in front of himself.  
"So." Baz looked around them. "Why are we here?"  
"Oh, right!" Snow seemed to break out of a trance. "I thought we could dance again, making up the moves as we go. Like that one time in the studio." Snow turned around and headed backstage. Baz saw his shadow fumble around until music seeped through the wings.  
"Is this what I think it is?" Baz asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.  
"I couldn't think of anything else," said Snow, returning to the stage. 

Haydn's Surprise Symphony filled the air, quite obviously coming from some low quality speakers owned by Snow. 

Baz and Snow stood a few feet apart for a while, awkwardly letting the music carry on without them. That was until Baz hesitantly reached his hand out toward Snow, an invitation to join him. Snow stared at it for a second, then shifted his glance to Baz's eyes as he took his hand.

They danced a duet, echappes and changements galore. They spun and hopped, never leaving the other's eyes. Sometimes, one would release the other's hand to lead or spin on their own, but they'd always return to the other as fast as possible. All too soon, the song ended, and they bowed to an imaginary audience. 

"I think they liked us," joked Snow, gesturing to the empty auditorium to which they performed.  
"We were so good, they're not even applauding," said Baz, with the tiniest giggle.  
Snow paused for a second. "I'm gonna miss this next year."  
"What'd'ya mean?"  
"I'm...I'm not going to this studio next year. I'm going back to my old one."  
Baz averted his gaze to the floor.  
"Please don't get mad."  
"I'm not mad," insisted Baz. "I always knew you'd go back. You came here to learn a bit of technique and you did that. Now you're done."  
"Baz—"  
"It doesn't help that the owner is an arsehole."  
"Baz, please—"  
"The Pitch Dance Company is not the place for anyone to truly learn."  
"Please—"  
"Which is why I'm going with you."  
"Baz, I— what?" stammered Snow.  
"I've always stayed here because of my mum. But I've known that this place has gone to shit for a while. I was just afraid I wouldn't be honoring the oh-so-important 'Pitch dynasty' if I left."  
"So, you're going to join my..." Snow looked off into the dark auditorium.  
"Your studio." Baz looked over to Snow until he met his eyes. "They do hip hop there, right? I'm not exactly experienced in that field, but I know someone who is. They can teach me."  
"Who?" Snow said, stupidly but adorably.  
"Just think about it for a minute."  
"You know I can't do that."  
"Oh my god. Just— who do I know who does hip hop and is standing right next to me?"  
"Me? Oh! Me! Me?"  
"Yes you." Baz smiled.  
"Can I do that? Like, teach you and stuff?"  
"Sure, you taught the little kids you said. I'll be about the same level."  
"Oh my god, okay." Snow began to get excited. "I could be the expert this time and you'll be the fumbling idiot! Not that you're an idiot, I mean. I just meant that I was an idiot the whole time. I'm sure you'll be great, I just—"  
"Snow, as much as I love hearing you talk, please shut up."  
"Got it. But, just, wow." Snow shook his head in disbelief. "Next year will be awesome."  
"I'm sure it will be," Baz agreed. "We'll be together." Warmth rose to his cheeks.  
"That'll be good." Snow seemed to soften.  
"One more dance before we go?" Baz offered.  
"Definitely."

This time, Baz hurried off into the wings to start the speakers. Light notes of the Surprise Symphony once more swept the air. Baz wondered if Simon could hear the beating heart pounding in his ears as they clasped hands once more. Simon's breath hitched as he wrapped his arm around Baz's waist. Still holding Simon's other hand, Baz moved his other hand to Simon's shoulder. This wasn't the same kind of dance they did before. Before they danced a duet. Now they danced as one.

Baz took the lead, obviously the one who took at least a few ballroom dance classes. Surprise Symphony wasn't technically a waltz, but Baz acted as if it was. On each crash and sudden loudness, Baz would spin Simon or lead him in another move. Eventually they settled into a simple sway, neither taking the lead, just resting and moving together. The music soon became background noise to the song they made together.

Baz hardly even noticed when he found himself placing his hand on Simon's cheek. It had a sense of rightness he couldn't explain. He stared into the blue eyes of that bumbling boy who kept stepping on his toes. He watched each mole on the boy's face carefully, as if he was afraid he'll never see them again.

Simon stared back. Harsh grey eyes opening to softness. He bit his bottom lip slightly, as if he held some kind of thought. 

"Can..." Simon started to say. His blood pounded into his heart. His skin suddenly became warm. "Can I kiss you?" he finally blurted out, plainly and simply, as if he'd just asked for a stick of gum. 

Baz's lips parted. He gave an unsure look, seemingly wondering if what Simon said was real. 

Shakily, he nodded his head, and was just as shocked when Simon's lips softly met his. 

Simon hoped what he was doing was okay. He hoped Baz wouldn't push him away. He didn't know what he was doing. Only that Baz was here and he was here and that they were actually kissing. He cupped Baz's chin, lifting it slightly but just focusing on holding Baz there. Right there in front of him. 

Simon's lips were a bit chapped. Baz'll have to get him some chapstick. Especially if they're going to be kissing again any time soon. Chapped or not, Simon's lips were on his. And it felt good. Baz’s lips were still full of anxiety, but his fear was somehow breaking down. His mind eventually emptied and all he thought about was the way Simon's lips pressed against his. Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and discover it was all a dream, but for now, he could relish in the wildest fantasy lying in his lips.

All too soon, Simon pulled away, resting his forehead on Baz's. 

"Sorry, I...is this okay?" he asked.  
"It's music," Baz answered.

And they moved together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I've been working on this for months, and, although it's far from perfect and pretty short compared to some of the stuff I've seen on here, I'm proud of myself for actually finishing something I start uwu.  
> Also here's a HUGE thank you to all members of the carry on fandom for being so welcoming and giving me the confidence to post my work. I don't know how you regular fic writers do this.
> 
> I know most of y'all have stopped reading by now, but I'd like to show you guys some inspiration I used for this story.  
> First, the dances. All the dances I imagined them performing are from different studios with different interpretations of Cinderella, so they don't really link together and all have different styles.  
> Simon's prince dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbaudhiG2zw  
> Baz, Dev, and Niall's trio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ylyOfHu_lE  
> Penny's dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFoQ0P-t65Q  
> Agatha's dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ugn91USQqTQ (obviously she'd have many more dances, but this one has always been my favorite Cinderella dance)  
> I don't really have anything to show for the hip hop dancing they do, since I imagined my own studio's hip hop dance to Maty Noye's "London" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixd1k_Gs0iM) and none of our studio's dances are online.  
> And now, Surprise Symphony (warning: the jumpscares in the song I described are very real, though they're pretty mild and aren't visual, please take note of that): (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tF5kr251BRs)  
> I loved this song ever since I played in my school's orchestra. I always come back to it for its hilarious history and honestly beautiful sound. Also I thought it'd be fun to write Baz trolling Simon with it, which it was.
> 
> Anyway that's enough from me before I give away any symbolism 
> 
> Have a great day y'all!


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